


There had Always been Cats

by Avon7



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cats, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avon7/pseuds/Avon7
Summary: Linda Hoyland asked for 'Aragorn and Faramir and cats' and here it is. It's a quabble, I think - a 500 word story.





	

There had always been cats. First there were his mother’s beautiful cats – cream and brown, elegant and mysterious. They blinked their slanting eyes and commented in quiet well-bred voices. They accepted his gentle pats graciously, although loving only his mother. 

When they were gone there was the huge striped tom that spent his days sleeping on corn sacks in a patch of sunshine in the stables. His purr was a big rusty thing that rattled through him and his fur was as thick as the bearskin rugs in the small audience chamber.

Later there had been a birthday kitten from Boromir, just before he went off to war. Seal grey and silent-pawed, she followed Faramir through the tower like a small and determined ghost. In the evenings when there was no one left to talk to, he talked to her. It was she Faramir told how much he dreaded the silent dinners with his father.

In Ithilien, Faramir befriended a ginger cat at the Ranger’s favourite tavern. Bought to kill the rats, he instead spent his days entertaining customers. A small polite meow demanded food. A butt against an ankle indicated a rub behind the ears or maybe a scratch beneath his chin would be appreciated. Of an evening he selected a lap to sleep in. He reminded not just Faramir of home and a world beyond the daily fighting, but despite all their entreaties he was clearly the captain’s cat.

After the war when he had begun to learn how it was to live in peace, Éowyn brought home a small kitten from the stables. Clownishly patched in black and white she ferociously chased feet and scaled hangings. She stole the milk, chewed Faramir’s favourite pen and managed to lose herself at least once a day. She grew up with their children.

Now there was Fan. Small and lightly striped in grey she fitted her cloud name. Once she had been a notable hunter but in late years she had been happy to curl up by the library fire while Faramir read. Now she slept on his bed while he dozed. King Elessar would lift her carefully on to his knee – she seemed as light and as frail as a nestling fallen from a tree - when he came to sit with his old friend. The three would sit together in peaceful silence as the fire burned down and the light faded from the snow-covered hills. Occasionally they would talk of the days when they had ridden against desperate odds, of battles old and faraway. More often it was books or children or news from friends. Finally, in the candle-lit room, Aragorn would lift Fan back on to the bed and watch as she settled close against Faramir as he slept. Aragorn would put out the candles until the room was lit only by moon and star light and then softly speak a Dúnedain blessing before leaving Faramir with the last of his cats.


End file.
